It Is Raining
by I Am Definitely Jeff Bridges
Summary: It is raining. The only sensations Percy has left are a dull pain in his arms from swinging Riptide; a sharper sting in his palm where the skin has blistered and the blister has burst and bled; and an ache far worse than either of those in the empty space at his back where Annabeth should be.


**It Is Raining**

It is raining. The only sensations Percy has left are a dull pain in his arms from swinging Riptide; a sharper sting in his palm where the skin has blistered and the blister has burst and bled; and an ache far worse than either of those in the empty space at his back where Annabeth should be. The spot where his Achilles heel used to be feels naked and exposed, while the cut at his elbow has forced his grip on the sword to be an uncomfortable and unfamiliar one for most of this battle. The grip on his sword is by far the lesser of the two worries, and he forgets about it as he moulds his entire being around his hands, his sword. He keeps twisting around between foes, convinced that he is about to be stabbed in the back.

On one such turn, he slips in the mud and falls heavily, but it saves him, as a hellhound's leap takes it flying overhead. He swings out at it and is rewarded with the sound of the monster melting to dust.

He rolls over and upright to find that the battle is more or less over.

His feet struggle for purchase on the muddy side of Half-Blood Hill, but it doesn't matter much that he can't get a firm grip. The monsters are fleeing. The day, wet, cold and windy as it is, is a victorious one.

He wills away the water that's dripping down his face and obscuring his vision, something he hasn't had breath to do for the last half hour. He sees demigods overwhelming the last small pockets of monstrous resistance, and knows that they don't need his help.

There are some bodies on the hillside, dead and wounded. He can only check their faces before moving past. He has other business.

He is looking for Annabeth.

She was with him at the start of the battle. He knows that to be true. She wielded her drakon-bone sword, now as familiar as the bronze knife she once wore everywhere.

What then?

Did she put on her cap, disappear? Did she slip behind the enemy lines to wreak havoc there? Surely she would have reappeared by now, if that was the case? She would have told him before setting out, she wouldn't have wanted to leave him alone.

The memory of the battle is already half gone from Percy's mind. He's unable to properly identify every action taken, every twist to the fighting.

Yes, she had charged into the fray alongside him, and then fought back to back with him, as they normally did now trusting each other with their lives. When had he felt her move away? Had she been wounded?

Percy cannot remember. It occurs to him that in the heat of battle, he could have done anything. Anything.

No. Surely he would have noticed. He would have been careful, he would have stopped himself. He was not so far gone that – besides, her body would be lying here. He hadn't ranged too much across the hill.

He feels his breaths become irregular, feels the panic encroaching. He stumbles and falls to his knees in the mud, searching vainly for a sight of the daughter of Athena.

She is no-where to be found.

The cut in his elbow begins to sting. He looks at it in surprise; he had forgotten it was there. There is so much blood, though. Humans don't produce that much blood, surely. It can't all be his. The injury, though painful, is a minor one. And monsters don't bleed. _Gods_ , but where is it all _coming_ from? It can't all be his. So whose?

The rain should be washing it away, healing him, but the blood only seems to be spreading over his arm, blossoming like a red flower. The mud, too, sticks in stubborn streaks across his skin.

He forces himself to his feet, scans the hill again for a blonde fan of hair spread out across the churned up earth.

Nothing.

Where is she?

He grabs a passing medic, and feels so sick with worry that he can only drive a single word out through his chapped lips: "Annabeth?"

The medic, a boy Percy's never seen before, or never noticed before, shakes his head and runs off.

Percy isn't sure what that shaking head even meant.

He crests the hill, sees the Big House, and takes off for it. He hasn't checked the infirmary yet.

Inside the camp's borders, the rain miraculously stops. Of course, the magic keeps the weather good. The sun peeks through a gap in the clouds up above, casting light on Camp Half-Blood and Camp Half-Blood only. He feels the mud begin to dry on his skin already in the sudden warmth. He shakes off the feeling that it's forming a case around him, trapping him. It's not a priority.

He barrels past campers, celebrating their victory and mourning their friends, all of them tired and bedraggled. He cares about none of them.

He rounds the corner, bursts through the door, and rams straight into her.

He reacts just in time, catching her before she hits the ground, though she'd already twisted herself into a position to roll back from and come up fighting.

She realises it's him, though, and lets him catch her. He's caught her before, though sometimes the only difference it makes is that he falls with her.

At night, when things are bad, she tells him that she doesn't blame him, that she loves him.

He tries to force himself to believe her, because the only alternative is to leave. But convincing himself is one of the hardest things he's ever had to do.

They cling together for a moment there, each taking comfort in the knowledge that the other has survived another battle. She has been hurt, he sees: her arm is bandaged, but it doesn't seem to be serious. He cups the bandaged area in his hands as though to shield it. It's been washed to prevent infection. The rest of her, like everyone else, like him, is half-hidden by the mud made from the torrential rain that drummed relentlessly down on the battlefield. Then he feels the eyes on them, and jerks his head towards the door, beckoning her outside.

They step out into the sun, but it feels close, oppressive. It reminds them both of the other warm places they've been.

He pulls on her arm, taking her back the way he came, up the hill to the tree. He positions her there, facing the camp while he faces the road. Green eyes meet grey. He holds her by the sides and backs her slowly across the barrier. The rain is still going strong. He can see it punishing the landscape, but when it reaches Annabeth it becomes something more wonderful. It cascades through the remains of those princess curls that have been straightened out with maturity and experience. The mud and blood and monstrous dust drizzle off her arms, cleansed by the rain. He watches her beauty unveiled by the storm for a moment, unveiled further as her lips part in a smile. It's a smile that means she's humouring him, that he's being silly, that he's having a moment or an episode or whatever, but that she's putting up with because she loves him.

He likes these smiles, which is just as well, as he gets a lot of them.

Then he kisses her, pushing his own head out of the shelter of the camp. He lets himself get wet, feels the water attempt to flatten his messy hair, feels it trickle down the back of his neck, feels it soak through his shirt, feels Annabeth's lips on his. He manipulates the water, washing himself and feeling the traces of the battle melt away, as easily as they did from her. He deepens the kiss, and feels hope flutter in his chest, as it cannot help but do when he's with her.

He knows that they are free, that they are safe. It never rained in Tartarus.

* * *

 **I started this fic determined not to write another post-Tartarus story. 'The last two things I've posted were post-Tartarus trauma', I said to myself, 'and the one before that was all about how demigods' lives are always miserable. No-one wants to read** ** _another_** **thing about bad things happening to nice people. Make it all about how much they all care about each other and maybe stick some fluffy bunny rabbits in there too, to make sure people come away feeling warm and fuzzy.'**

 **Oh well, I failed.**

 **I think this one's a little more upbeat in terms of Percy and Annabeth's mental state, at least, although no demigods actually** ** _died_** **in the other ones, so maybe it's not all that happy. And also I wrote it from the perspective of a slightly demented Percy, so it's definitely not all sunshine and roses.**

 **Assuming I ever finish it, though, I've got a mortal AU in the works about Mrs O'Leary, so that will be more fun. Probably.**

 **Well, how about you tell me what you thought, nudge nudge wink wink there is a review box just below and look how easy it is to write in it I'm sure you'd hurt its feelings if you didn't… please?**


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